


where no man (should have) gone before

by fushiginokunino



Category: Stellar Firma (Podcast)
Genre: But also, Canon-Typical Alcoholism, Comedy, Gen, Rusty Quill Big Bang, also with hypnos soulbiter!, canon-typical killing animals and bringing them back to life, just really really stupid comedy, just...canon-typical trexel, mostly rated for language and the barest mention of sexual themes ever
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-11
Updated: 2019-08-11
Packaged: 2020-08-19 11:09:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20208760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fushiginokunino/pseuds/fushiginokunino
Summary: “You— You’re not going to stay?” he was saying nervously, “Don’t you think you should...er, instruct me? Commentate? Mock me for my hubris?Please Hartro anything—”“Stopwhining,Trexel,” Hartro said, pressing a large green button on the console in front of her with a flourish, “I have zero-gravity yoga, so you’ll have to manage on your own. Just remember,” she added, making for the door, “If you die in the HoloDome—trademark Stellar Firma, Limited—you die in real life! Toodles!”





	where no man (should have) gone before

**Author's Note:**

> Before we begin, please allow me to draw your attention to Molly's totally [mood-setting playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/1D4Od5DxzPZs4uoDaYsGQu?si=ydXn89sUR6WbG_4fHUzzgQ) and [amazing supplementary artwork](https://emirens.tumblr.com/post/186943962743/emirens-art-done-for-this-hilarious-stellar) to enhance your reading experience! Hey, at least Hartro's having a relaxing day, right?

David glanced up from the I.M.O.G.E.N. terminal on which he was currently reading either his fifth or six Loulabella Anas-Marum novel—they all started to blend together, after a while—to consult the clock. Twenty minutes left on shift. It certainly would be nice if _ someone _ would _ show up _ so that they could access the brief.

Though...on the other hand, he _ had _ just enjoyed a lovely weekend of not being dead, and found himself a bit loath to have his pleasant frame of mind disrupted by—Trexel. Trexel in general.

Alas.

“Now, David, I know what you’re going to say,” Trexel shouted as he burst into the room, “And I would do the voice, but I’m still a teensy bit hungover from the Astral Bar and, well,” he chuckled, “you already know how annoying your voice is, David. Anyway, you’re going to say: ‘Treeexel, it’s twenty minutes ‘til the brief is due, _ again,_’”—for someone allegedly not doing ‘the voice,’ he certainly was injecting more melodrama than necessary or accurate, David thought—“and well, David, yes, yes, I am, I’ll admit! I’ve been avoiding you, David. I’ve been avoiding you because I’ve been a bit cross! It was really rather rude of you to pummel me, you know—but all is forgiven!” 

It was at this point David looked up at Trexel, completely sure that his scathing glare would have no effect but hoping it might be satisfying anyway, and noticed that Trexel wasn’t alone.

...But he clearly thought he was, as his monologue took the most oblivious and inopportune of turns, “Because what matters is that we really pulled one over on ol’ Hartro! And that was a team effort, David. Well, alright, mostly me! But you were there,” he said seriously, punctuating each word with great emphasis. “And that got me to thinking,” he continued, taking no notice of David shaking his head and mouthing _ shut up_, “Of the possibilities, David! What other stuff could we get away with, if we—”

“What indeed?” said Hartro, from approximately two centimeters behind him. Trexel yelped.

“Hartro! You’re— I mean, why are you— I— What _ day _ is it?” he finally managed. The look in his eyes bespoke fear of feet in his future.

“Monday,” replied Hartro, perfectly pleasantly, “But I thought, well, given that my latest performance improvement plan was…” she glared at David “..._ ineffectual_, I might at least get you some additional training before setting you loose on any more briefs.”

Now, a younger, more naive David-7 might have thought that “additional training” was just the sort of thing that Trexel needed. But he was over a month old, now, and wise to the ways of the world. He had been through Hartro’s “team building,” for starters. His eyes narrowed.

“What sort of training?” he asked.

“Oh, is this what we’re doing now?” Hartro scoffed, addressing Trexel, “We’re letting your precious, too-good-to-be-slurried clone just run _ amok _ and ask _ questions _ of management?” 

Trexel glared at David. David shrugged. Hartro rolled her eyes at both of them.

“Very well, if you must know,” she said, “Because, despite my thorough reviews and careful instruction, you, Trexel, remain a hopeless idiot, I will be taking you to the HoloDome—trademark Stellar Firma, Limited—to get some...shall we say, _ hands-on _ experience with your own designs.”

“What’s a HoloDome?” David asked.

[BRANDING GUIDELINES VIOLATED. WATCH IT, BUSTER!]

Hartro made a lengthy and dramatic noise of disgust before gesturing at Trexel to explain.

“The HoloDome—trademark Stellar Firma, Limited, praise the Board—David, is an advanced type of HoloVid technology. Like the simulations we sometimes do, but bigger!” he said, with an air of grandiosity, “And usually hornier, and sweatier…though, granted,” he laughed, “I’ve never really used it for work purposes before.”

“...Right,” said David, regretting most of his life up until this point, but that last question most of all. “Will I be attending as well?”

Hartro straightened up from where she was miming being violently ill to address him.

“Of course not,” she said crossly, “You may have been allowed in the Justice Room, but that was a special circumstance. Also, I’m tired of your face. Come along, Trexel.” And with that, she grabbed Trexel by the collar, and dragged him bodily from the room.

Well, then. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all, if he wouldn’t need to venture into the hellscape that was—everything outside of this room, as far as he knew. And it was always refreshing when_ Trexel _ was the one suffering for their planet designs. If his suspicious were correct, he could even watch it all from the comfort of his chair.

David logged in to I.M.O.G.E.N. and set about accessing the video feed for the HoloDome™. He was getting rather good at this, if he did say so himself, so after just a bit of being menaced by assorted weaponry, he managed to pull up both video and audio for the room. Trexel’s voice echoed tinnily through the budget speakers their office was equipped with.

“You— You’re not going to stay?” he was saying nervously, “Don’t you think you should...er, instruct me? Commentate? Mock me for my hubris? _ Please Hartro anything— _”

“Stop _ whining_, Trexel,” Hartro said, pressing a large green button on the console in front of her with a flourish, “I have zero-gravity yoga, so you’ll have to manage on your own. Just remember,” she added, making for the door, “If you die in the HoloDome—trademark Stellar Firma, Limited—you die in real life! Toodles!”

Oh. Oh dear.

* * *

As the door shut behind Hartro, the inside of the HoloDome™ flickered. And just like that, Trexel was standing amid lush, broad-leaf vegetation, at the edge of a small clearing.

Within the clearing lay...something. It resembled the extinct tigers that David had seen images of in I.M.O.G.E.N., but additionally appeared to be covered in a fine layer of mucus. Genetically engineered, probably. In any case, it wasn’t moving. Was it sleeping? Dead? 

David considered his options for a moment. The idea of simply leaving Trexel to his fate was so, so tempting. But if what Hartro had said was true, and if Trexel actually died, that would mean...slurry. And _ could _ he survive the planets they had designed on his own, really? Given the death toll thus far, it seemed unlikely. Come to think of it, he wasn’t even sure Trexel could survive on a _ normal _ planet. He barely survived as it was, between the gambling and the alcoholism and the general level of incompetence.

David watched Trexel poke the sleeping and/or dead tiger-thing with his shoe. Then he sighed deeply and pressed the push-to-talk key.

“Trexel.”

“Oh my Board, it talks! The land echoes with words from beyond the grave! Death speaks in a whiny voice through the mouths of the innocent, laying bare the heart of the universe as it cries, WHY, TREXEL, WHY!?”

It wasn’t clear whether Hartro’s plan was taking effect more promptly than expected or if Trexel was simply doing that...thing, but David really couldn’t be bothered figuring it out at the moment. I.M.O.G.E.N. only had one volume setting, after all, and he had had more than enough of Trexel shouting directly in his ear for one very short lifetime.

“Trexel. Trexel, shut up. It’s me, David-7.”

“Oh, David! I thought that tiger-thing sounded suspiciously irritating. Have you been eaten?”

“Have I—what? No, Trexel, I’m in the office, _ where I always am and will be forever, apparently_. I’m using the intercom.”

Trexel paused for a moment to ponder this—or at least David hoped that was what he was doing, and he hadn’t just fallen asleep with his eyes open again.

“Clones aren’t allowed to use the intercom.”

Ah. Indeed.

“I have special—er, permission at the moment,” David said quickly. It wasn’t a lie, technically: he _ was _ using universal permissions. “Anyway, that’s not important. Is that thing actually dead?”

“Well, I certainly hope so, David, because I can hardly run away, now can I? I haven’t done any exercise whatsoever in about twenty years, and I’m not about to start now! No, if it wakes up, I’m not ashamed to admit that I’ll just lay down and die.”

“...Right. And if you die, I die, and I really would rather we not, so—”

“Yes, yes, David, we’ve been over this before. You’re awfully fixated on your own mortality, do you know that? It’s not healthy.”

David rubbed his temples. Well, if the beast hadn’t woken up so far from all of the...Trexel, it probably _ was _ dead. Which could only mean…

“I think you’re on Mitsy Van Schuten’s planet.”

“Who?”

“You remember—with the Mars concordant?”

“...Who?”

“Look, nevermind. It’s a planet full of alive and dead animals, and...posh people, maybe?” David said, zooming out with the camera as he explained, “If you follow my directions, I think I can get you to a monorail station.”

“Well, why didn’t you say so? I’m always up for a good monorail, David.”

“...Sure, whatever. Now, there’s a small path to your left, leading out of the clearing. Take it—and have your gun ready. There’s too much foliage, and I can’t see if there’s anything in there.”

“Gun, what gu— I have a gun! When did I get this gun? Have I been shooting people again, David? Because sometimes, you know, I’ll be going about my day, having a nice drink at the Cosmic Lounge, and then suddenly everyone’s screaming, and I can’t find my cocktail, and—”

“No, Trexel,” David said firmly, “everyone gets equipped with a gun on this planet, remember? The ones that grant literal power over life and death?”

“Oh, those!” Trexel said and, without further preamble, shot the tiger-thing.

The beast shuddered to life. It sniffed the air once, and rounded on Trexel. As it flexed its spine, preparing to spring, it bared its yellowing teeth and— 

“Whoops!” The creature toppled over immediately as Trexel shot it again, “It didn’t seem to like that!” He chuckled. “You know, I thought Hartro was being unfair with her ‘We can’t have people shooting their relatives to kill and unkill them, blah blah blah’ lecture, but I do see how it can be somewhat alarming, if you’re not expecting it.”

David did not reply, as he was attempting to determine whether he was having a heart attack or not.

“This path, then?” Trexel plunged forward into the trees without waiting for a response, “Tre~xel, in the jungle! Ru~nning, through the trees! Pre~ten~ding to have a machete! Swish, swish, whee!”

It was a Boardawful song, but it did allow David to keep tabs on Trexel’s location despite being unable to see him, so that was good. And as long as it wasn’t punctuated with any sort of scream, he could be fairly certain that no recently resurrected animals were accosting him.

It wasn’t terribly far to the monorail station, and Trexel soon emerged onto the bank of the narrow river nearby it.

“Alright, Trexel, you should be able to see the station now. Just cross that river, and—”

“Cross the river!? The river is full of fish, David!”

“...Okay?”

“You know how I feel about fish, David! They’re _ weird_. Look at them! Look at them, there, with their mouths opening, and closing, and opening some more, and their cruel unblinking eyes staring, and staring, and…” he finished ominously, _ “judging. _”

“Right, well, can’t you just...I don’t know? Channel some of the…” he paused, “...fondness that you have for your satchel-fish and tolerate these ones long enough to get across?”

“What!? How dare you!? I’m not some sort of _ promiscuous fish adulterer_, David!”

“Well then shoot them or something, I don’t care!”

...

Several minutes later, David was watching Trexel wade across the river.

“Ooh, this is one of the nice ones, David,” he said pushing past several dozen floating fish corpses, “A pebbly one!”

“That’s nice, Trexel,” David said flatly, spinning in his chair. At least Trexel would be safe on the monorail, and he could focus on figuring out how one actually exits the HoloDeck™. Could he open the door remotely? Force-quit the program, somehow? 

“David…” Trexel said, “This monorail seems to be less of a monorail and more of a…”

The screen went dark.

* * *

“Trexel?” asked David, cautiously, “Trexel, what happened?”

“I— I’m not sure, David. It’s very dark and—ow!” There was a loud thump. “I’ve tripped over something. I’m feeling around for it… Groping… Aha, it’s some sort of cat! Can’t really tell if it’s alive or dead, though, which is pretty unsettling, let me tell you. Maybe if I shoot it with my—wait, where’s my gun gone? Where’s my gun, David!?”

“I can’t see any better than you can, Trexel,” said David, “But if the gun’s gone, you must be on a different planet.”

At that moment, a grid of thin, green lines illuminated what appeared to be a perfectly cubic room. Squinting at the screen, David could see that it had two exits, on opposite sides. Above one was a sign reading “Socks,” and the other, “Other.”

“The black box! From the trash planet!”

“The black box?” Trexel repeated incredulously, “But where are the conveyor belts? The gears? The whirligigs!? I demanded whirligigs, David!”

“Probably the Build Team cutting costs.”

Trexel gasped as if he had never heard of such a thing, despite having been the one to coin the phrase “quarter-ass.”

“The insult of it all! The sheer disrespect! To think they would take my whirligigs—our whirligigs, David!—and throw them all away just to save a few—” He was interrupted by a loud wooshing noise, which turned into a roar as he was sucked out of the “Socks” exit by a funnel of air.

“Hm. At least it’s functional...ish,” David mused, as Trexel landed on a pile of damp socks with a ‘splat.’

“Oh, Board, this is disgusting. Why did we design it this way, David?” Trexel peeled a sock from his face.

“Don’t ask me, _ you’re _ the one who wears _ socks_.”

“Eurgh, you don’t _ understand_, David. It’s bad enough when my own socks are wet, but this, this is some sort of moist-toesies hell.”

“Yes, Trexel,” said David, not giving a shit. Ah, there was a tutorial on HoloDeck™ programming on I.M.O.G.E.N. Excellent.

“_And _ it smells like feet, David,” Trexel said pitifully. David sighed.

“Right, well, I’ll try to make you a way out. In the meantime just—look around, or something.”

Trexel muttered something about the shortcomings of the SOS method, followed by several aspersions on David’s character, but David could hear him squelching his way across the socks continent nonetheless.

“David! David, I’ve found something! I think it’s a land bridge!” David glanced up, and saw a line of trash mattresses stretching into the distance.

“Hm, so it is,” he said distractedly, going back to his tutorial. “Try not to get tetanus.”

What followed was several minutes of rusty squeaking and utterances both colorful and profane. Those could almost be ignored as background noise though, until…

Until he had nearly reached the end of chapter II-F.

“David! Daaavid!”

“What. Is. It. Trexel. I. Am. Trying. To. Save. Your. Life.” he ground out.

“Yes, yes, it’s all about _ David _ and his _ projects_. What about my ambitions, David? Did you ever think of that? Did you ever think to yourself, ‘maybe Trexel would like to be included,’ hm? Or ‘maybe Trexel would like to have a nice sit-down in the Cardinal Fang chair, rather than wandering about stubbing his toes an—”

“Wait, wait.” David looked at the screen more closely. Sure enough, it _ was _ Cardinal Fang’s chair. “Trexel, yes! Sit in the chair! It might force the program to cycle to the next planet.”

“...Maybe I don’t want to sit in the chair now,” Trexel said petulantly.

“Oh, for Board’s—I’m sorry I ignored you _while I was attempting to keep you from dying a horrible death_. Now...sit.”

Trexel crossed his arms and huffed, but sat.

“Oh. Oh, I say, David, this is actually quite comfortable. It—”

And the rest of the planet dropped away.

* * *

Trexel was left sitting in a small, unwalled room, its only contents him and the chair.

“You know, David, this is rather pleasant. I think Cardinal Fang would like it,” he said, roundly ignoring the fact that past the edge of his tiny piece of floor was an empty, howling void. Hartro had apparently gone for the pre-edit version of this one. “Ah, Cardinal Fang! Cardinal Fang, collector of comforts. Cardinal Fang, keeper of all fates that ever have been and shall be. Cardinal F—”

[CARDINAL FANG!]

“Shut it,” said David, “we are _ not _ doing this again.” Trexel slumped back into the chair.

[SADNESS DETECTED. SECURITY ALERTED.]

“What would you have me do then, David? Just sit, here, quietly, while you focus on your ‘important’ ‘work’?”

“Ideally, yes…”

“Because you can hardly expect me to do that, David! Be alone with my thoughts, and my memories, and my…” he shuddered, “_feelings_. I don't even have anything to drink, David, you can't ask me to feel _feelings_. All these cupholders, and not a single mayonnaise Russian...”

“I…don’t know what that is,” David replied. But if you just give me twenty minu—”

“AUGH!”

“Seriously? Fine, just—just ten minutes, then, and—”

“No, David, AUGH! I mean really, really, AUGH!”

David adjusted the camera to see what Trexel was pointing and screaming at.

“Is that… Is that _ Hypnos Soulbiter _? What is he doing here?”

“I, uh… Admittedly, David, I wasn’t paying too much attention," Trexel squeaked, "but I do recall Hartro saying something like, ‘blah blah, Trexel’s failings, blah blah, your parents didn’t love you, by the way, Hypnos Soulbiter escaped his planet’ and HERE HE IS EMERGING FROM THE VOID.”

None of that sounded exactly accurate, but Hypnos was indeed emerging from the void, so David decided not to bring it up. Particularly because Trexel was now clinging on to the back of the chair, whimpering _ ohboardhesgonnaeatmydreams _ over and over, and there were probably better uses of his time.

“Right. It’s fine, I just need to...force the program to cycle to the next planet. According to the manual, I just…” he queued several commands in I.M.O.G.E.N., “...do this!”

And suddenly, the terrible void was filled with neon lights.

* * *

“Trexel,” David said, for the one-hundred and thirty-eighth time (he counted), “TREXEL!” (one-hundred thirty-nine)

“Oh, David!” replied Trexel, at last, “It’s about time you came back! I was beginning to think you’d gone off to a _ better _ party, with _ better _ alcohol, and made _ better _ friends, and you were never going to speak to me again, and we’d meet up at a reunion in five years and you would say, ‘Oh, how’s it going, Trexel,’ and I would say, ‘It’s FINE, David, YOU BROKE MY HEART BUT IT’S GOING JUST FINE—’”

[CONSULTANT SPIRALING. SECURITY ALERTED]

“Trexel…” David said, over his for-some-reason-boss’s sobbing, “I wasn’t there to begin with, I’m not allowed to go to parties, that alcohol isn’t even real, and, most significantly, I feel, _ I’ve been yelling your name for the last half-hour. _”

“Oh,” Trexel sniffed. David thought he had better put down ‘friends’ on his list of things never to mention to Trexel, but, looking at the note stuck to his monitor, he realized he had run out of space. He’d have to trick Trexel into bringing in more office supplies. If he didn’t _ die_.

“So, Trexel—”

“Have you seen Hypnos, by the way, David? I know we’ve had our differences, it’s true, but I thought we should have a chat, you know, me and ol’ bitey boy...”

David pinched the bridge of his nose. He wasn’t sure what exactly alcohol did, but still found himself wishing he had some.

“Hypnos disappeared ages ago, Trexel. Almost as soon as the planet changed, he put his hands—well, I think they were hands—over his ears—at least I assume they were ears?—and just sort of...sidled back into the void.”

“Ah, well, that’s a common reaction to intense shittiness of teenage rave music, David. You can hardly fault him for that!”

“That’s all very well,” David tried again, “But can we focus? You might die in a few minutes, so—”

“Listen, David, I know you don’t have much experience—and by that I mean any experience whatsoever—with alcohol, but if you’re not at least _ a bit _ in danger of dying at any moment, you’re doing it wrong.”

“Okay, sure,” David fought very hard to keep his temper, “But in this case, specifically, we designed the moon the crash into the planet and kill everyone, and you _ will _ die in approximately five minutes if you don’t get into the escape pod.”

“Oh, in that case...” Trexel said, sauntering over to the drinks table and shoving several bottles of wine into his jacket before clinking his way over to the conspicuous white pod in the corner of the room. “Wait, since when did we add an escape pod?” He gasped. “Did you alter the brief, David? Were you working against me, even then? How long have you been perpetuating this treachery!?”

David sighed heavily.

“I didn’t alter the brief, Trexel. I altered the data in the simulation just now. So can you _ please _ get into the pod?”

Trexel used two fingers to gesture at his own narrowed eyes and then in the direction he thought was the camera—it wasn’t—several times, but then did as he was told, and David launched the pod just as the moon came hurtling into view.

* * *

For a moment, all was quiet. Trexel relaxed into his seat in the escape pod, and uncorked a bottle of holographic wine.

Then the whole lot of it—the wine, the seat, the pod itself—vanished, and he was falling toward a sea of molten lava. Because of course he was. David had known Hartro wouldn’t have let that go.

“Oh, I know this one!” Trexel exclaimed, waving the LavLev™ ladle he was now holding. For someone hurtling to a fiery death, he didn’t seem terribly perturbed, “The floor is lava! We played this one with Hartro, David!” Ah. Yes, that would be it.

“...And how did you escape the lava that time, Trexel?”

“I threw a clone at it, David! You should remember, you were there. Being thrown into the lava.”

“Right.”

There was a long pause as Trexel continued to fall through the pseudo-atmosphere. Then, abruptly…

“OH BOARD, DAVID, I DON’T HAVE A CLONE TO THROW AT THE LAVA! AAAAAAAAH!”

“Quite.”

David was not above waiting until the last moment possible to execute the command that would open a conveniently placed vent right where Trexel was to land, but execute it he did. Trexel flew face-first through the opening, and landed with a satisfying thud. There was an uncharacteristic silence.

“Trexel, did you die?” queried David after a moment. This elicited a groan, so...apparently not. “Good. Now all you need to do is crawl back to the office. There aren’t any cameras in there, but surely you can manage that on your own.”

* * *

An hour later, David finally resigned himself to the fact that Trexel could not, apparently, manage getting back to the office on his own. The sock-shaped icon on the map on his screen—Hartro’s tracking device really _ did _ come in handy sometimes—hadn’t moved in nearly forty minutes.

“I.M.O.G.E.N., open office vent 1-C,” he commanded. Then, after taking a moment to memorize the turns he would need to take, he climbed up into the shaft in the ceiling.

It was a certain musk pervading the air that told him that he was close.

“Trexel?” he called.

“David? David, is that you? Oh, thank Board,” came a muffled voice.

“Trexel, what are you _ doing_?”

“I’m wedged! I’m wedged, David!” 

Crawling forward and around a corner, David saw a vertical shaft with a pair of boots sticking out of it. Peeking down it past them, sure enough, there was Trexel, wedged. His face was pressed into his knees, his back flat against one wall.

“...Trexel, how did you manage that?”

“Listen, David, we can’t all be covered in goo like _ some clones_,” Trexel replied, as if that explained anything.

“I— You know what, whatever, just give me a second and I’ll pull you out.”

“What!? You can’t do that, David! To pull me out, you’d have to touch me! You’ll get all of your little...clone germs all over my ankles!”

“And that would somehow be worse than being wedged in a vent for the rest of your natural life?”

“...Well, when you put it like that, David, _ of course _ it sounds stupid,” retorted Trexel. Then he gave a muffled sigh. “Fine. Just try not to touch my skin with your gross clone hands.”

David briefly considered leaving him in the vent, but he had already gone to all of the trouble of keeping him alive thus far, so.

It took a fair amount of levering, and yanking, and wiggling, but they did at last manage to liberate Trexel—into the narrow confines of the vent, where David also was, with great force. There was a series of mighty clunks. Then silence. Then...

“Ow, my arse,” said David.

“Ow, my head,” replied Trexel.

* * *

They were above the consultants’ corridor when David spotted it out of the corner of his eye. Something bright and undulating, gliding around a corner.

“Trexel,” he hissed. “Trexel! Did you see that?”

“Ooh, a chute!” said Trexel, not at all paying attention as he climbed into an auxiliary shaft. 

David kept staring down at the route in front of them. Well, whatever the thing was, as long as it didn’t come back…

It came back. Round the corner, and directly toward them. It was _ enormous_, barely fitting into the confines of the vent it made its way along. Odd, David thought, that he couldn’t really tell what color it was. It was so...bright.

The thing sped up. David braced himself to be eaten, or absorbed, or—

“Whoops!” said Trexel, losing his grip on the edge of the chute and grabbing for David’s onesie instead. They both plummeted, knocking against the sides as they went and landing in a heap at the bottom.

“What the hell was that?” said David, accidentally-on-purpose elbowing Trexel in the eye as he sat up.

“What was what now?”

“That...thing. It was all...glowy and enormous.”

“Oh, why, that’s a Ventcrawler, David. I do believe I’ve mentioned them to you before. Were you not listening? Have you been nodding along but actually ignoring every word I say?”

“I thought you were being dramatic! Exaggerating!”

“No, no, there’s no need to exaggerate about Ventcrawlers, David,” said Trexel, chuckling as if at an inside joke, “They’re always full of surprises, those chaps. Will absolutely murder you, or worse! So, so much worse, David.”

“Uh...huh.”

“But,” Trexel continued, “we should be able to detour around it if we follow this tunnel to the—aha, there’s a diagonal shaft! Love a good diagonal shaft, David,” his voice echoed as he crawled inside said shaft, leaving David little choice but to follow.

Miraculously, within minutes, they were above the office. David was almost impressed, until he remembered that Trexel’s knowledge of vent geography was born of hours crawling about in there like a lunatic.

“I.M.O.G.E.N., open office vent 1-C,” he said again. The grating slid open.

[RATS DETECTED. SECURITY ALERTED.] piped I.M.O.G.E.N. as they tumbled to the floor.

“No, it’s…it’s just us,” David gasped, pushing himself up to his knees. Next to him, Trexel was already fishing around in his pockets for his Astral Bar access card.

[RATS METAPHORICAL] I.M.O.G.E.N. acquiesced.


End file.
